prog analouge

he discarded his fathers old prog-albums –
gate folded images faintly remembered from
rolling joints across their surface

they served their purpose –
he rejected the electric wail

disfigured classic covers with pen and Stanley knife incisions

he was mildly amused by everything

guitarists with plastic tips melted to stumps –
blurred faces – f
uzzy landscapes scratched across vinyl

analogue thoughts drowned out by the loud morning sun


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